


Observations on the Practicality of Sound

by lavendeer



Category: BioShock Infinite
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Simon & Garfunkel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-04-22
Packaged: 2017-12-09 05:47:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/770695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavendeer/pseuds/lavendeer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Luteces stop in time to allow Robert a moment of recovery, but Rosalind finds the silence unnerving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Observations on the Practicality of Sound

Their quiet breaths seemed to be the loudest sound on the planet. Perhaps the only one.

It seemed as though their soft inhalations echoed through the crumbled building. They were not entirely sure of the location—it was reminiscent of a Roman mausoleum, all the more imposing and hallowed as the stark white pillars crumbled into grey. They were unsure of the time, as well, but the way cobwebs coated forgotten skulls said it was the end of a time they knew. However, as subtle as it was, a vibrant green seeped through the cracks in the walls, which said the beginning of something new.

Time, they had come to learn, was a cycle.

It was moments like these when Rosalind became all too aware of her own breathing. She had always been susceptible to becoming suddenly cognizant of automatic biological functions, but after the “death” of her and her brother, it seemed to intensify. She wondered why, if she was now supposedly immortal, she even had to breathe at all. Sometimes she stopped, and held it for a few seconds, to see what would happen, but then she would exhale and begin to breathe again. Not because she was too cowardly to challenge her immortality, no—it just simply felt strange.

A soft shudder caught her attention, a shaky anomaly in their cyclic inhalation. She looked down at her brother, his head cradled in her lap as she had idly, mechanically grazed her fingertips through his hair.

Robert cleared the back of his throat, his jowls twitching slightly. A bubble of blood heaved at the corner of his nostril with every breath. Rosalind pursed her lips, removing her handkerchief from her jacket pocket to dab at it.

 “You really must stop remembering, Brother,” she murmured, pinching his septum as the fabric turned crimson. “Or at very least try to.”

“It is rather difficult,” he responded in a clipped voice. He ran his tongue over his top teeth, tasting copper. “Memories tend to pop up at the most inopportune moments.”

“Much like a certain few of our relatives, I dare say.”

“Indeed. Although the headaches I get from alternate dimensions aren’t quite as severe as they were during Sunday dinner.”

A weak smile tugged at the corner of Rosalind’s lips, and she balled the soiled handkerchief up in her hand. It faded quickly, though, her expression stark as her eyes analyzed the face below her.

“Sometimes I wish it had been me,” she admitted quietly. “That had gone into your world. I wish I could bear your suffering.”

“Nonsense,” he waved a dismissive hand. “Then I would be in your shoes.”

“You _have_ been in my shoes,” she argued with an arched eyebrow. “I’d venture to say we share the same pair.”

“Touché.” He closed his eyes.

It was an unnerving sort of silence that followed their exchange. If they hadn’t already lost their minds, it may have driven them mad. Rosalind, who slept best when lulled to bed by the sound of beeping machines and bubbling coils, found it unbearable. Making conversation for a long period of time was never an option when Robert had his spells—it felt exceptionally strange to not feel an ache in her jaw from hours of banter.

Rosalind was a scientist first and foremost. Anything artistic tended to be awkward and stilted with her—even her singing voice was warbling and off-pitch. But it was better than the silent working of their cardiovascular systems.

_“When you're weary_  
 _Feeling small_  
 _When tears are in your eyes_  
 _I will dry them all”_

She couldn’t quite place the time of the song, or where she had heard it. But though they had left whatever tear it came from, it stayed with her. It clung to her—an inescapable memory, popping up at the most inopportune of times.

_“I'm on your side_  
 _When times get rough_  
 _And friends just can't be found_  
 _Like a bridge over troubled water_  
 _I will lay me down"_

She was by no means a singer, but it was a rare act of affection that made her brother grin as he rested in her lap.

_“Like a bridge over troubled water  
I will lay me down”_

The rest of the song was lost on her, so she just hummed the rest. Perhaps, one day, they might visit that tear again. From what she had gathered they were essentially immortal, so it was certainly a possibility that they’d find it again.

When Robert finally spoke again, it was a small, but welcome interjection. “Have you ever wondered if perhaps I’ve been doing this all on purpose to simply get your attention?”

Rosalind stopped humming. “The possibility has crossed my mind,” she mused.

“And what have your findings been?”

“It isn’t necessary.”


End file.
